


you look up and you're a long way from shore

by secretfeanorian



Series: made of starlight [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: Gen, canonical character death (briefly mentioned), etc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troubled dreams haunt Rawlind's sleep and in them, she can't escape the echoes of those she has left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you look up and you're a long way from shore

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the need to write something for this quest/instance (Troubled Dreams – part of epic questline, in the Gap of Rohan shortly after the Battle for the Fords of Isen) because it is possibly my favorite quest in the entire game.

_I promise you my pain wasn’t poetic. It was days without sleeping and pretending I was stable enough to continue.  
_

* * *

Grimbold has to call Rawlind’s name several times before she responds and when she finally notices that he has been trying to get her attentions, she jumps and turns to face him. He eyes the spirit beside her nervously, then sighs. “It has been a long day, Rawlind, and we all could use a rest.” She narrows her eyes, already anticipating where the conversation is headed. “We have held the Ford, but have lost Prince Théodred, and that weighs heavily on my mind. I fear the doom of Rohan is near. My men are tired, weary in body and mind, and we cannot stop it.”  
  
For a moment, Grimbold is silent, but Rawlind doesn’t try to fill the silence. The battle for the Ford has left her body exhausted and her mind ill at ease as she mulls over all the ways things could’ve been done differently that would’ve perhaps led to different and better results.  
  
Finally, Grimbold moves again and he places his hand on Rawlind’s shoulder. She looks at him over the partial mask covering the lower half of her face and he sighs once more. “There is a bedroll that you can use near the entrance of this camp.” Rawlind opens her mouth to protest, but without even needing to see her mouth move, he cuts her off. “Take your rest while you can,” He says, his tone allowing for no arguments, “You may not have another opportunity for a while, and we will need you to be ready.”  
  
Rawlind stares at him for a moment, her eyes unreadable, but then the spirit beside her dissipates and she gets to her feet. Silently, she walks toward the bedroll he’d directed her to. As she makes her way through the camp, she takes in the weary and exhausted faces around her. Few turn to watch her progress and the few that do don’t keep their eyes on her for long.  
  
Mai-nalláma appears again at her side and hums, as if checking on her. She rolls her eyes and climbs into the bedroll once she reaches it, not even bothering to take off her hood or boots. The spirit tugs on the hood insistently, however, and with a muffled groan, Rawlind pulls it off her head. Mai-nalláma once again disappears and Rawlind considers letting out an irritated huff. Instead, she rolls over onto her side and closes her eyes. The bedroll is uncomfortable and she can feel every jutting stone of the hard ground through it. Even so, she is so depleted from the events of the day that she falls into sleep within only brief moments.  
  
Rawlind doesn’t know how much time passes before she becomes aware again, but when she does, she finds herself standing at the gate of Grimbold’s camp. It is eerily quiet and her heart immediately starts pounding. She resists the urge to run into the camp and instead begins to walk around, pausing only briefly at the sight of the numerous corpses scattered around. For some reason, this doesn’t seem out of place and slowly, her limbs feeling increasingly heavy in the muted world, she continues around the camp searching for any survivors of whatever massacre had swept through the camp whilst she had been unconscious.  
  
No living person seems to be left in Grimbold’s camp and nothing moves within its boundaries; not even carrion birds. Out of the corner of her eye, Rawlind catches sight of a more familiar face among the mere acquaintances. Prince Théodred lies cold and still among his warriors. She knows he did not die in this place, but the sight of the fallen Prince still fills her with regret and with worry for the future of his kingdom.  
  
All of a sudden, she thinks she hears a noise behind her and spins around. When she sees nothing, she bites her lip nervously. _This is a dream_ , she thinks, but the dream holds her in its grip and refuses to let go. The silence is beginning to choke her, but she can’t make her mouth move and she feels as if there is a cold hand clutching her throat; preventing her from speaking no matter how hard she tries.  
  
“I think you might be asleep, Rawlind.” A familiar voice finally breaks the wretched silence and Rawlind looks around in time to see Candaith appear from around the side of a tent. He stands before her, an eyebrow raised in amusement, and even though she knows she is asleep, it is still painful to see him.  
  
“Well, I’m certainly sure of that now,” She tries to joke, but the words stick in her throat and she just looks at him, fighting back tears. Candaith glances around the corpse-strewn camp and smiles almost sadly.  
  
“Your journey must have been an arduous one, Rawlind, if this is the tapestry of your dreaming!”  
  
“You would be dreaming of the same, or similar,” Rawlind finally finds her voice, “if you hadn’t had the utterly brilliant idea to challenge an oath-breaker.” Her voice breaks and Candaith sighs.  
  
“I didn’t challenge h-”  
  
“Well, whatever the fuck you did, it was stupid. So utterly beyond stupid that there is not even a word-” Her voice breaks off entirely and once again she can’t speak, only this time, it is for the grief welling up from where she had locked it away and she struggles to force it back there for several long moments.  
  
Candaith looks at her sadly and doesn’t respond to her accusation. “May you find restful sleep at the end of your road, my friend, for I fear you will have little of that for a while.”  
  
“Reassuring, thank you,” Rawlind almost says, but finds she can’t bear to speak with this dream-memory of her close friend as if nothing has changed and as if she is awake and he is alive.  
  
He gestures toward the path through the camp, still strewn with bodies. “Walk with me a ways, Rawlind. There are some things we need to discuss.” Seeing no reason not to follow, Rawlind trails after Candaith’s shade through the camp. “Death is all around you,” He says after a few moments of walking silently. “I felt it on the Forsaken Road and I feel it here.” Rawlind’s face twists unpleasantly at the mention of that place, but the ranger beside her doesn’t seem to notice and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. “But you must not abandon hope, Rawlind! Even the darkest night is followed by the dawn. All of us have left someone behind. That is why we brave the darkness. We fight so they may see that dawn.”  
  
Rawlind looks at him and wonders who he is thinking of as he says that, while also thinking of no one herself. “The only people I have left behind are those who lie now cold and motionless, rotting away slowly as time consumes the broken corpses they have left behind.” She wants to say, but doesn’t. It seems everyone she truly cares for is traveling down a path all too similar to her own.  
  
“Do not lose sight of who you are, my friend, and do not despair.”  
  
“Easier said than done,” She mumbles. The familiar banter just slips out and Candaith smiles when he hears her teasing tone.  
  
“I would give my life a thousand times to be even the smallest help to Aragorn, my chieftain. That is what it means to be one of the Dúnedain. It was no different for these men of Rohan, or for their prince. They strove to protect their people, and would do so again if given the opportunity. Weep for the need of it, but do not mourn their choice. I know they must be content.” Suddenly, he stops, and looks back toward the gate. “Someone comes!” He says, “Let us meet him at the gate, and keep him from further disturbing your rest!” He bursts into motion, calling over his shoulder: “Hurry! This way!”  
  
Candaith stops when they reach the gate once more, and Rawlind looks at him questioningly. “He is close.” The ranger says, then turns from the road to face her. “He is your own foe to face, Rawlind. I will not be able to help you stand against him, and you will be on your own. Let the knowledge that you have already proven the stronger lighten your heart and bring you courage!”  
  
Rawlind’s brow furrows, and suddenly a flame bursts to life before her eyes. When it clears, Morflak looms large in her memory, casting his shadow over all things. “Rawlind!” He calls out hatefully and she draws her staff, trembling. “You will never escape me!” He continues, “My hatred lives on!”  
  
“Steady, Rawlind,” Candaith says from beside her, a soothing presence that – despite his claims of being unable to help – calms her shaking somewhat. “His weapon is fear! Do not be afraid!”  
  
“You cannot hope to defeat me!” Morflak shouts and moves to attack her. She dances out of range, casting spells until he falters, and falls. Before he falls, he shouts, “You will never escape!” and then a party of mounted soldiers come charging into the camp. Rawlind isn’t sure of their meaning or purpose and it seems she is cursed never to know because just as they halt and their leader dismounts, the scene around her changes. The world goes white for a moment and when her eyesight returns, she is no longer in Grimbold’s camp.  
  
Instead, she and Candaith stand on the shores of Lake Evendim. It appears to be mid-day and Candaith smiles. “Your dreaming mind roams far afield, Rawlind. Asleep, you are much like a ranger. I hope you do not mind my saying so.” Rawlind smiles back and Candaith chuckles, but the pleasant familiarity of the sound rings hollowly in the still air of the dream, and is soon gone.  
  
“Our friends have their own road now,” He says softly and Rawlind glances at the sand around her booted feet. “May they reach Aragorn in time to be of use to him! It is my hope that the most dangerous leg of their journey is behind them, but I fear it is not so.” Candaith says, “How much hardship will our friends face before the end?” He starts to walk and Rawlind trails after him.  
  
“So much has been lost already…he lost a daughter and he almost lost himself.” Golodir stands before them, tall and proud, but his eyes burn with hatred and his lip is twisted into a sneer.  
  
“I will not rest until he dies!” Rawlind hears the man say. “Mordirith!” Figures of the wraith appear around him. “No…” Suddenly, Golodir seem less tall; less sure. “That’s not right…Lheu Brenin…” The wraiths are replaced with the treacherous Dunlending leader. “You…must…"  
  
“Die.” She hears the brenins hiss and a white light again fills her vision. When it passes, Golodir is gone, as are his demons.  
  
Candaith shakes his head sadly. “This way, Rawlind. Golodir has passed beyond your help.” Candaith moves on, but Rawlind hesitates to leave the spot where Golodir’s image had been. “Others of our friends dwell in your thoughts, Rawlind,” He calls to her and when she looks over, there is a vision of Lothrandir bound to a post, bloodied and thin, but still strong. Saruman stands to one side, Gun Ain on the other. Rawlind rushes over and now Lothrandir stands before her. He is struggling against his bonds, but his eyes show no signs of despair. The closer she gets, the more she can see the defiance in those wells of blue.  
  
“Lothrandir resists.” Candaith says from her side, looking between Rawlind and Lothrandir’s phantom. “That is all he knows and he will never submit to his captors.” ‘Saruman’ raises his staff and slams it back down again. Suddenly unhampered by his bonds, Lothrandir falls to the ground. Rawlind shouts, but before she can do anything more, her eyesight is gone for a moment, and once again, when it returns, the ranger before her has vanished.  
  
“I fear he does not know any better,” Candaith mutters and Rawlind can’t help but agree. “The only one who can save Lothrandir now…is Lothrandir,” He says with a note of finality in his voice and he continues walking. Rawlind follows this time, but she is distracted and starts when she hears Candaith says “Calenglad?”  
  
Calenglad stares out at the lake, his eyes glassy. He takes no notice of the two standing by him. “Gwindeth!” He calls out to the water, “Gwindeth, are you there?” Gwindeth can abruptly be seen standing on the water’s surface a short distance from shore. “I should not have left you Gwindeth!”  
  
“But your duty…” She protests.  
  
“It was a mistake!” Calenglad cries, “I am not strong enough for this duty! Candaith…Braigiar…so many of my friends…I failed them. But I will not fail you, my love!” He begins to walk out into the lake.  
  
“No, I forbid it!” Gwindeth shouts, but Calenglad continues to wade until he is swimming. “Stop!” Calenglad’s head disappears below the waves. “Calenglad!” Gwindeth begins to cry and Rawlind can suddenly hear the roaring of waterfalls drowning out her sobs…or perhaps adding to them.  
  
Again, her vision darkens and then she is standing on the banks of an unfamiliar river. Candaith stands before her, looking puzzled about something. “Your thoughts turn to your friends, but remember you are held in the grip of your dreams. Nothing you have seen here is real, Rawlind. I am sure our friends will be fine.” Candaith does not sound as certain as Rawlind might wish, and she cannot help but wonder if that is proof of her own worrying doubt or something more…  
  
“What is this place, Rawlind?” He asks, “That river could be the Anduin, but…have you ever seen this place?”  
  
Rawlind shrugs. “I don’t know. I have seen the Anduin, but this exact location does not look especially familiar.”  
  
Candaith nods, then pauses. “Someone else is here, Rawlind.” Rawlind spins around, but sees nothing. “The time has come for me to leave you again,” She turns back to him. He is sitting on the forest floor and smiles almost sadly when she meets his eyes. “Goodnight, my friend,” He says, and then he is gone.  
  
Rawlind stares at the spot where Candaith had been numbly for several moments until she hears voices behind her. She turns to see what is left of the Fellowship standing before her, all looking nervously at the other shore. Their voices are muted somewhat, but she can hear enough to gather what has happened.  
  
There was some shape in the sky – likely a fell beast with a Nazgul rider from Frodo’s reaction to it – and Legolas had shot it down. Boromir and Aragorn argue about something briefly and then they too are gone. Something else, however, has come.  
  
“Ssss…they were here, yes precious. Sneaking and creeping precious! Floating and hiding, no slishing and slashing! Like the fishes, gollum! Gollum!” The creature Gollum stares past Rawlind with its lamplike eyes, but even in the grip of a dream she feels a chill at the thought that she might be seen. “Are you a nice fishy? Tasty? We need to keep our strength, gollum, gollum. We can’t take the precious if our handses are too weak to wrap and squeeze…we needs our strength. Tasty fishy. Eat, and then we follows the precious, gollum! Gollum!”  
  
When this vision passes, Rawlind breathes a sigh of relief and examines the enormous sword that rises from the swamp before her. There is something familiar about it, but it has an almost otherworldly quality about it. She touches it and as she does, vivid color returns to the world. She looks around. She is all alone. Candaith is gone, as is the Fellowship.  
  
Rawlind hears someone stumbling through the reeds. “Rawlind!” The voice is Nona’s. “Where are you?” For some reason, Rawlind once again finds herself without a voice. “I cannot see you…” Nona calls out as she walks toward where Rawlind stands. She is blind-folded. “Rawlind, where are you?” Rawlind tries to call out to the Algraig woman, but her mouth will not open. “Who is that? What is that? Something is coming! Rawlind, where are you?”  
  
Suddenly, Galadriel is standing in the air above the two women. “The darkness is all around you!” She cries. “It moves with winged speed to endanger our secret purpose! Rawlind! You must come to Lothlórien! Come to Lothlórien…and bring the Ghost!”  
  
Galadriel fades away and as she goes, Nona shivers. “So…cold…” and then she falls to the ground. As Rawlind stares at Nona’s lifeless body lying among the mist and the reeds, she feels the waking world beginning to pull her away.  
  
The veil of sleep passes from her eyes and she soon finds herself lying on her back, staring up at the stars. The memory of what she has seen remains despite her awakening, and as the hours pass, it remains ever clear. The meaning of these troubled dreams, however, remains hidden to her and as the sky begins to lighten, she climbs out of the bedroll and stretches with a quiet groan. There is still work to be done. There is always more work to be done.  
  
She stares at the spot where Théodred’s body had lain in her dream and where Candaith – she shakes her head and looks away. Mai-nalláma appears at her side and she pulls her hood back over her head and replaces her mask. “Come to Lothlórien” is still echoing in her head, even hours later and her decision is made. It had instantly been made.  
  
Rawlind gathers her meager belongings and packs the saddlebags of the grey company horse she had been left when the aforementioned company had continued on their own road. “Rawlind?” Grimbold calls to her from a few paces away. She sighs. How to explain her decision to Grimbold? She takes a deep breath, then lets it out with a rush. She turns around to face him, takes in his baffled expression, and opens her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. Yay!
> 
> The music from this instance is creepy as fuck, but it's an incredible instance and only on a small part thanks to the music. A lot of the dialogue in this is taken directly from the quest itelf, but mostly because I didn't want to change it too much. And because I'm a lazy ass motherfucker.
> 
> Also, this series was actually written semi-out of order, so the next piece is actually the one that explains Mai-nallama's existence in text...oops...um...Mai-nallama is based off the lm pet spirit saber-cat and is basically the spirit of Mai (grey saber cat) hovering over Rawlind. Mai is Mai and "nallama" is echo in elvish (Quenya). According to google. I got that off "elfdict.com". The actual entry on that website is as follows:  
> nalláma - echo - nalláma, nallama noun "echo" (LAM). The initial element may be nan: "back", hence "back sound", sound that comes back (cf. láma)  
> Idk. :P


End file.
